On A Bare Branch A Crow Is

Every Moment Of Life Is The Last, Every Poem Is A Death Poem.

Go To The Pine If You Want To Learn About The Pine, Or To The Bamboo If You Want To Learn About The Bamboo. And In Doing So, You Must Leave Your Subjective Preoccupation With Yourself. Otherwise You Impose Yourself On The Object And You Do Not Learn.

How Much I Desire! Inside My Little Satchel, The Moon, And Flowers

Just Washed, How Chill The White Leeks!

Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To Go Together.